When I was young I imagined that someday I would save a damsel in distress. Turns out that I was the damoiseau who needed saving, but my Dame in shining armor never came.
There were a couple close calls, but none of the woman understood their role. How could they? They, like me, expected me to be the hero. Most women are not raised to be heroes.
So I remain trapped in my self-inflicted tower. Advanced well past saving age. Slowly becoming part of the furniture.